


The Prophecies of Merlin

by ineptshieldmaid, kayloulee



Category: Geoffrey of Monmouth - Historia Regnum Britanniae, Medieval literature - Fandom, Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Crack, Gen, Prophecy, historical jokes, things which are only funny to medievalists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-10
Updated: 2011-03-10
Packaged: 2017-10-16 20:16:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineptshieldmaid/pseuds/ineptshieldmaid, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayloulee/pseuds/kayloulee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin has a habit of getting drunk and producing incomprehensible prophecies. Or, what happens when Inept has to read Monmouth for school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Prophecies of Merlin

**Author's Note:**

> What happened here was that Inept started reading the Prophecies of Merlin aloud, and Kayloulee began making commentary in the character of Arthur. And then there was a draft taking shape in the margins of Inept's textbook, and then, well, this happened.
> 
> The prophecies themselves come from Lewis Thorpe's translation of the Historia Regnum Britanniae, published by Penguin Classics.

Merlin is a bit... strange. This isn’t exactly news to Arthur, he’s known Merlin since, well, longer than he likes to think about. Sometimes Arthur thinks Merlin’s getting stranger as they get older, though. Take the prophecy thing, for example.

‘What prophecy?’ Gwen says, when Arthur mentions it. There’s a flash of fear in her eyes, and Arthur _knows_ it has something to do with Morgana. Bloody Morgana. Arthur wonders if there’s a certain amount of prophecy just floating about in Camelot, and with Morgana gone, Merlin is the next in line.

‘This prophecy!’ Arthur says, flapping a scrap of parchment at her. Gwen pulls it out of his hand and smooths it out on the table next to her breakfast.

‘He who will achieve these things shall appear as the Man of Bronze and for long years he shall guard the gates of London upon a brazen horse,’ Gwen reads. ‘London. Does that mean anything to you?’

Arthur scratches his beard. ‘Isn’t there a ruined town in Essex with a name like that?’

‘Is Merlin sleeping well?’ Gwen asks him, looking concerned.

Arthur raises his eyebrows. ‘How should I know? I’ve been here, with you.’

Gwen smiles up at him, and offers him a pear from their breakfast platter.

* * *

‘The Lion’s cubs shall be transformed into salt-water fishes and the Eagle of Mount Aravia shall nest upon its summit,’ Arthur reads out. ‘Merlin, what the hell is this?’

Merlin shrugs, and giggles into his goblet. ‘Dunno,’ he says. ‘Dunno, _sire_. Hey, is that Leon? HEY, LEON,’ he bellows, and the knight almost leaps out of his skin in surprise. ‘Oops,’ Merlin says, taking another swig of wine. ‘Hey, Leon, have you ever heard of the -’ he peers down at the parchment, with its spidery notes in his own hand ‘- the Boar of Commerce?’

Leon gently removes the goblet from Merlin’s hand. ‘No, I haven’t. I think it’s time we escorted you to your chambers, Lord Merlin.’ And, miracle of miracles, Merlin goes, leaving the parchment behind him. Arthur stares down at it, thinks about burning it and then folds it up. He slips it into the sleeve of his shirt, and later he stuffs it into the box in his chambers where he’s slowly gathering a collection of these strange outpourings. He’s not sure why he’s collecting them all, but he has enough material here to annoy Merlin on a regular basis, which is a pleasure in itself.

* * *

‘A Hedgehog loaded with apples shall re-build the town and, attracted by the smell of these apples, birds will flock there from many different forests.’ Gwen pulls the latest scrap of parchment out of Merlin’s hand and peers down at him. Merlin rubs his head, looking as if he’s not quite sure how he came to be crumpled on Arthur’s hearth, or why he’s quite so hung over.

‘Merlin,’ Arthur says, wrestling with his own tunic. ‘Are you hungry? Is that what this is about? Are we not feeding you enough?’

‘Arthur, please,’ Merlin says, clutching his forehead. ‘ _Shut up_.’

* * *

‘In that time the stones shall speak,’ Arthur declares. ‘Oh, thank you, Merlin, that’s terribly informative.’

Merlin rolls his eyes and unhooks Arthur’s saddlebag, swiping the fattest turnover for himself before handing over Arthur’s share of their lunch.

* * *

This time, it’s Arthur who’s drunk, sprawled out against the warm stones of the castle rooftop. The sun is setting and Merlin is leaning over the parapet.

‘Two men shall hold the sceptre one after the other,’ Merlin says, in a funny distant voice. ‘And a Horned Dragon will serve them both.’

Arthur takes another swig out of the wineskin. He’s getting used to this sort of thing by now. Besides, there’s only one dragon left in the kingdom, everyone knows that.

‘The first man will come clad in iron and riding upon a flying Serpent,’ Merlin says, turning toward Arthur. His eyes are glowing gold.

‘Why don’t I get to ride a flying serpent?’ Arthur asks the sky above them. It ignores him. Merlin ignores him too.

‘He will sit astride its back naked, and he will grasp its tail in his right hand,’ Merlin intones.

‘And then he shall fuck himself on it!’ Arthur is seized by a fit of the giggles, and almost topples over where he sits.

‘The seas will be made turbulent by his cry and he will strike terror into the second man!’

‘Ye gods, that actually made sense,’ Arthur says. Merlin, blinking the gold out of his eyes, looks surprised.

‘It did?’

‘No, not your bit,’ Arthur says, waving a hand. ‘Mine! You said he grasps the dragon’s tail, and _I_ said he fucks himself on it, and then _you said_...’

Merlin looks down at his hands. ‘I didn’t write it down?’

‘No,’ Arthur says. ‘Don’t worry, they never make sense anyway.’

Merlin looks flustered. ‘What if they do, Arthur? What if there’s something I’m supposed to be _doing_ and I don’t because I forgot to write it down? Fuck.’

Arthur shakes his head, trying to clear it of the wine. ‘But you always lose the parchments...’ he says, struggling to keep up.

‘No I don’t,’ Merlin says, surprised. ‘I give them to you.’

Oh. Arthur lets a smile creep across his face and holds out a hand to Merlin. ‘Don’t worry,’ he says. ‘I’ll write this one down for you.’

**Author's Note:**

> If the show can have Mercia in Arthurian Britain, I can have Essex. So there.


End file.
